Hasta la Vista, Baby
by Simon920
Summary: The end of the road...


Title: Hasta la Vista, Baby

Author: Simon

Pairing: the gang, B/J

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The party's over…time to call it a day…

Warnings: withdrawal…

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Moonshadow Tribe and ATP

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**

* * *

Hasta la Vista Baby  
**

"Holy crap, Brian—did you see this?"

"Um?"

"This. C'mon, pay attention, listen to this;" Justin held the newspaper a little closer, the better to read it. "The dateline is Pittsburgh and this paper is like two weeks old. **_'Local authorities are at a loss to explain the recent rash of suicides in and around the Pittsburgh area over the last month or so. More than seven hundred people have taken their lives in an unprecedented display. Numerous bodies have been found in private homes, but large numbers have been discovered in public parks, bars and other areas as well. So far the only links between the victims seems to be that a good number of them are middle aged women and a fair percentage are gay men. There seems to be no obvious connection at this time. Investigations of cult involvement are being investigated and both the FBI and the CIA have been called in to help. Similar episodes have been reported in New York, Toronto, London, Los Angeles, Chicago and parts of Florida, as well. A disturbing, though far smaller number of related deaths are being reported in other parts of Europe and are also being investigated. Death figures are rising daily but totals, as of this writing, are estimated to surmount five thousand.' _**Can you fucking believe that? What the hell's going on?"

Brian opened his eyes and looked over at his partner. "Does it give any names or anything?"

"No, no names, it says that if you're concerned about friends or family, you should call them or somehow make sure they're all right and if you can't get through you should call the police to check up on them."

"The 'family' okay?"

Justin lay back down on the poolside chaise. The sun had moved behind the palm tree, and the shade was welcome in the tropical heat. "Fine. I talked to Mom yesterday."

"…Good."

"That's it?"

Brian opened his eyes enough to look at his partner. They'd been here on Tahiti for two weeks so far and would be moving on to pitch campaigns in New Zealand and Australia in another five days after stops in Tokyo and Singapore to make presentations to companies there. Kinnetiks was doing better than even Brian had anticipated and this was its chance to go world-wide. The future was so bright they had to wear shades.

"What do you want me to say? Some cult has flipped people out—it happens. Jim Jones ring a bell?"

"C'mon, Brian, this is serious. I think we should call home."

"Fine, whatever."

With a dirty look, Justin got up and headed back to their bungalow by the surf. He disappeared inside, returning about half an hour later. He woke Brian when he sat on the side of the older man's chaise. "Well?"

"It's bad. I spoke to Deb and she said the numbers are being underestimated but that the authorities won't give out the real figures because they don't want a panic. Over twelve hundred in Pittsburgh alone and numbers are just as bad in other places."

"Christ—what the fuck is going on?"

"No one's sure, they can't seem to find a common thread with this—at least not yet." He paused a second, taking in the perfect view, the bright sun shining off the perfect lagoon. "I think we should go home. I'm scared for our friends."

"And so what? Hold Theodore's hand? Rub Emmett's back? Get serious, Justin. Our friends have their shit together; they'll be fine."

"I want to get home—I changed our flight to later tonight."

This got Brian's real attention. His eyes opened and he was clearly in Kinney pissed off mode. "The fuck you did."

Not about to argue this one out, Justin stood up—"You do whatever the fuck you want, but I'm leaving tonight. Asshole."

"Christ—you are such a Nelly queen."

"Better than being a fucking robot."

Storming off, Justin headed back to the hut to pack while Brian, sighing, annoyed, opted for a last swim in the perfect water.

The Asian meetings were rescheduled for two weeks from now and Brian was telling himself that at least they hadn't completely blown their chances for the accounts. At least not yet. However, this dropping everything to fly half way around the world because Justin had a case of the wim-wams had better fucking stop now, if not sooner.

Twenty hours later they had walked into the loft, after having to make their way up the stairs, clogged with wilting flower arrangements and all addressed to either or both of the men. Jesus.

Pissed, hungry and jet-lagged, Brian headed to the big platform bed, elegantly flopping on the thing for a quick shut-eye. Whatever was going on could wait till he woke up—screw it.

Snapping on CNN news, Justin panted himself in from of the liquid TV, leaving the bags dumped by the door.

After what had to have been hours, Brian opened his eyes, looked around the loft and decided to get his butt in gear. Enough was enough. He felt a little better and he was ready to face whatever was left of the world. He went about, with none too good graces, turning up the heat and scanning the front pages of the accumulated newspapers left on the top step of the stairwell while they were gone. He just found repeats of the news bulletins they already knew about and so moved on to the box of mail waiting for them.

It was the usual pile of junk, catalogues and real stuff like bills with a large number of what looked like greeting cards. Odd, it wasn't anyone's birthday.

Slicing open the envelope on the top of the stack, he was surprised to see a Hallmark sympathy card. The handwritten note inside offered condolences for his loss.

Who the fuck died?

He opened the next one—same thing, though this one had a request for a headshot. Autographed, please—to Cassandra in some small town in Kansas. What the hell?

Some of the cards were addressed to Justin and he put these aside. Picking up the phone on the second ring, Brian was surprised to hear that a rep from the post office was on the line—where and when did they want the other twenty bags of mail delivered? It was getting in the way and they didn't have the room to store it. Deliver it in the morning? Sure, thanks.

Opening a few more, Brian started to clue in to what was happening—bizarre as it seemed.

"Hey Sunshine—you're not going to believe this—c'mere and take a look."

"Sunshine?"

"Justin? Heads up."

No answer. Strange. Maybe he was in the bathroom.

No.

Maybe he went out to pick up some food since there wasn't anything in the house.

Dialing the diner he heard two rings and then; "We're sorry, the number you've reached is no longer in service. Please check your listing and try again."

WTF? "Operator. The number of Liberty Diner, on Liberty Avenue…what do you mean no listing?…In Pittsburgh…check again…yeah, thanks."

No listing and no new number for the Liberty Diner in Pittsburgh.

Christ.

He hit three on his speed dial. "We're sorry, the number you've reached is no longer in service. Please check your listing and try again."

Mikey? Where the fuck was Mikey—and Ben? He'd even take Hunter at this point.

He hit four on the speed dial. "We're sorry, the number you've reached is no longer in service. Please check your listing and try again."

Debbie? Where the shit would Debbie be? She'd had the same number for twenty years.

He tried two on the speed dial. "We're sorry, the number you've reached is no longer in service. Please check your listing and try again."

His business? Kinnetiks was gone, too? Jesus H Fucking Christ.

Grabbing his coat, he went downstairs to where he left the 'vette. There was an old Ford Pinto in its place.

Shit. He'd been towed? HIM? Never happen—never. Never had, never would. Shit, house, mouse.

He walked—half ran the six blocks to his building, his business, to sigh in relief when he saw the familiar bricks and concrete steps and the sign on the door; "Molly Malone's Family Restaurant".

This was nuts.

This couldn't be happening. He had to talk to Justin. They could figure it out together. Hell, they'd just go back to Tahiti if they had to. That would work. They'd just get out of here.

Dialing number one on his cel, he heard; "We're sorry, the number you've reached is no longer in service. Please check your listing and try again."

Justin?

He'd just seen Justin not a couple of hours ago. Maybe he'd gone to his mother's house. Sure, that's where he was. He'd just drive over—and fuck. His car was towed. Shit.

He hit fifteen on his speed dial. "We're sorry, the number you've reached is no longer in service. Please check your listing and try again."

Jennifer?

Okay, okay. Sit down; take a deep breath, think.

Of course.

Obviously.

Jerk—he should have known.

This was a joke. His fucking friends were playing one of their stupid jokes on him. That was it.

Of course.

He walked back to the loft. They were probably all there waiting for him. They'd all jump out, yell 'surprise' and laugh at his stupid panic.

Those assholes.

When he got to the corner of Tremont, he saw a group of dozens of mostly women behind police crowd control ropes. There were equipment trucks, heavy electrical cables, rolling racks of clothing, people milling around and as soon as he was spotted a sort of shriek went up from the crowd. What was going on now? A fire? A medical problem of some kind? What the hell?

Screw that. He wasn't about to deal with that sort of bullshit. He kept walking, ignoring everyone.

"Hey, dude—they're waiting for you, man. Move your ass, will ya?"

Jerk.

He went into the building lobby to be surprised by a woman he didn't know approach him with a small, hand held tray of make up which she began quickly and silently applying to his face.

"Fucking excuse me?"

She gave him a look. "Don't start your prima donna crap on me—we're all upset, all right? Just do your job like the rest of us are doing."

"Who are you, sweetheart?"

"Cute. Just suck it up and finish the scene." Annoyed, she turned on her heel and walked away.

"… And…Action."

He pulled the loft door open, walked in, expecting his friends to jump out and saw…

Cameras, film lights, crewmembers and Justin drawing at his light table. He walked over. "What's going on?"

Justin looked up at him. "Don't hand me that. You know exactly what's happening and you know it's your own fucking fault. I've had it. After five years I've fucking had it."

"What are you talking about?" He was so shocked, so startled that he ignored the dozen or so people staring at them. He even ignored that his loft didn't have four walls.

"You heard me. I'm outta here. I'm taking that job offer in New York. You can stay here, you can play your bullshit Brian Kinney games all you want, but you're going to be playing by yourself from now on." Justin stood up, shot him a Kinney-worthy look and flounced out.

"…And…Cut. That's a wrap, people. Thank you."

Applause broke out, along with a few tears from the by-standers, some of whom came over to shake his hand, slap him on the back. Justin came back and gave him a hug. "I'm got to be going to catch my flight, but you keep in touch, okay? I mean it—and if you're in New York, stop by. We'll get dinner, catch up. Simon would love to see you again, man." A final hug, a kiss on the cheek and, "It was great working with you—couldn't have done this as well with someone else."

Brian blinked. Huh? "What's going on?"

Justin looked at him then caught onto the joke. "Give it a rest, okay?…We're cancelled. You know that—we've all known that for months now." The blond looked at him a little more closely while the crew started the set strike behind and around them. "Jesus, I knew you were taking it hard, but c'mon. You've got three Indies lined up—you have to be in Vancouver next week to start filming, remember?"

He didn't get it. Had Justin flipped out? Was this part of the practical joke? Some big guy was rolling his sub-zero out of the kitchen. "Hey, stop, asshole."

"Yeah, right."

"But—Jus, what about all those people, all those suicides? What was that about?"

"Oh, yeah. That's sorta bad. The police think it's all those insane fans—you know, the ones who think Brian and Justin were real? Anyway, now that Queer As Folk is over, they're all killing themselves—thousands of them. It's pretty bad."

"We ARE real."

Justin laughed with that big smile. "Will you drop it? It's yesterday, man. Move on—life's for the living!"

"But…"

"Hey, if you want any souvenirs, you better get while the getting's good. All this shit is going to be sold next week."

"I bought everything back after Stockwell lost—remember? Kinnetiks is doing great and so I…"

"God, drop it, will you? Get over yourself." Justin walked away, grabbing the painting of the naked guy and hauling it out. "See ya in the funny pages."

Brian stared after him, confused, when Debbie walked by, minus her wig. "You okay? You look like shit."

"It's over." He sounded a little stunned. "Did you hear that? He's left-gone to New York…"

"Well of course he is. Where else would he be going, for God's sake?" She gave him a strangle hold hug. "You and Kim coming over for poker on Tuesday? You know I don't take 'no' for an answer. Seven, right? I'm having food brought in—sushi, so don't eat before you get there."

"… 'Food brought in'? Since when do you pay for take out, Deb? And since when do you eat sushi?"

She laughed and gave him another hug. "You always were a smart ass."

Next he turned to Linds and Mel, apparently reconciled and calmly watching a woman take Gus away, probably to day care—except there were two of him. "Ladies? Where is that woman taking my son…sons?"

"Probably out for ice cream—that's where their mother always take the kids after shooting ends."

Uh…"You two going to be at Deb's tonight?"

"I am." Count on Smelly Melly to ruin an evening.

"I have a date with the hub. Sorry."

"Mel said she'd be there."

The two women laughed…"You're so silly. Her husband. You know—the guy she's married to?" Lindsay? Married?

Turning around he saw Vic sipping a cup of coffee and talking with Gardner. Say wha?

"Hey there, you're going to the wrap party later? Right—see you there."

Jesus…

Turning again, he saw Mikey—finally!

"Mikey, God, you won't believe the day I've had…"

"Yeah, the word's getting around. Jesus, man—you were drunker than a skunk last night—kept going on like you thought this was all real, like you really were Brian Kinney. You kept going on about how you and Justin were going to Tahiti for a few weeks of R&R and then you'd come back and break the balls of every ad agency on the east coast. You were so wasted we were afraid we'd have to shoot around you today…especially with all the fan suicides and every thing. You scared the shit out of a lot of people, guy, you feeling any better now?"

"…Mikey…?"

"Hal. Remember? Hal."

"…Mikey…?"

"Christ, I'll go through it again. Pay attention. You're an actor on a cable TV show called Queer As Folk. It's just finished a five-year run. This is the last day of filming and after the wrap party we're all out of here. It's over. You got that?"

"I'm Brian. I'M BRIAN!"

"Ron? Dan? Could you please talk to him again…?"

4/2/05

9


End file.
